


Shining in the Shadows

by starryskeyess



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flashbacks, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Soft Keith/Shiro (Voltron), no beta we die like men, war veteran Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryskeyess/pseuds/starryskeyess
Summary: When Shiro wakes from a nightmare about the explosion that took his arm, Keith comforts him the best way he knows how.“Why didn’t you wake me?”Shiro dips his head, bashful, “You needed the sleep. You’ve been working so hard, and I know you’re exhausted.”“Still, you know I would have woken up if you needed me.”Shiro nods.“Unless you… didn’t?” Keith’s voice comes out so small, and he has to immediately bite back the rush of guilt at his own words.  To ask Shiro to reassurehim,in a moment like this, feels selfish as hell.And yet, Keith needs the reassurance.“Keith, you know I always need you. I just… I also want to learn to be okay,” Shiro swallows hard, “I thought sitting outside might help.”“Did it?”“I think so. Especially now that you’re here.”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	Shining in the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaine_m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaine_m/gifts).



> This was my 200 follower giveaway gift to @/moikaad on twitter!! I really hope you enjoy, and thanks again for being there!
> 
> Title from Gabrielle Aplin's 'Home' <3

Stifling heat has sweat beading across Shiro’s skin, golden and tanned from the sun. Though if he’s honest, a good scrub in a hot shower might take off a shade or two. There’s a loud slap against his arm, jolting him into hearing. Matt’s laughing, his smile is brilliant and sharp in the sunlight. He looks at Shiro expectantly, like he’s waiting for an answer to a question Shiro didn’t hear. Shiro doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, doesn’t know anything but a growing sensation of _wrong._ He opens his mouth to call out to Matt, to say something, _anything,_ but before any come he’s blasted backwards. Everything goes white and it _hurts_ until he can’t take it, he’s unraveling at the seams, coming apart--

Shiro bolts up in bed, gasping. His chest burns with every breath that drags into his lungs. For half a moment, he doesn’t know where he is, and panic floods his veins. But his next breath comes through his nose, carrying familiar smells. Rain and pine, cedarwood and vanilla shampoo, floral notes of fabric softener. With his next breath he can hear the rain on the skylight above, falling with a heavy rhythm. Each thing he recognizes loosens the tight knot under his clavicle. 

Keith’s breath is like the steady ebb and flow of ocean waves as he sleeps. Normally Shiro’s nightmares wake Keith too, sometimes before Shiro himself wakes. But Keith pulled long hours at work this week, and it shows. He drifted off before eleven last night, sitting straight up on the couch and snoring softly. Keith had argued with Shiro as he was pulled towards bed, claiming that he just closed his eyes for a moment, that he could make it one more episode at least, but he’d been unconscious shortly after his head hit the pillow. 

Keith’s features are hard to make out in the dark, but Shiro can see he’s relaxed in sleep, arm outstretched towards the warm spot Shiro just left behind. Not long before Keith had proposed, Krolia had visited and had asked about the trimmed sunflowers adorning their mantle. She remembered them from her time on earth, and had asked why they were called sunflowers. Shiro explained that they turned to face the sun, wherever they found it.

“The way Keith turns to face you, wherever you are,” she had commented. Her tone was blunt and sure, like it was an immutable fact. 

Shiro couldn’t stop noticing after that, the way Keith oriented himself to Shiro. The way Keith’s hips and feet shifted to follow Shiro’s movements, the way his violet eyes tracked Shiro through a crowded room.

Shiro runs reverent fingers over the hand that had been thrown over Shiro’s waist and clutches at nothing now, too gentle to wake Keith from his deep slumber. Shiro’s grown used to having Keith there when he wakes up, gentling him and giving Shiro whatever he needs. Tonight, he’ll be okay. And Keith needs the sleep.

Shiro rises from the bed as quietly as he can manage, untangling his legs from the blankets with patient movements. When he puts his feet on the floor he finds their flat sheet crumpled on the floor, probably tossed there as Shiro battled his own brain. He pulls the sheet from the ground and wraps it around his shoulders, slipping out the door.

* * *

Keith wakes to pre-dawn light and cold sheets. His arm is stretched across the bed, holding onto...nothing. He rubs at his eyes, trying to smear the sleepiness out of them so he can see across the room. When they clear, he can make out Shiro’s form through the glass door, shrouded in fabric and sitting on the swinging bench on the balcony. He doesn’t swing, sitting still and calm. Something about his posture tells Keith he isn’t sleeping.

Keith slips from bed, shoving his feet into slippers before padding into the kitchen. He brews two mugs of tea, peppermint for Shiro, something sweet and spicy for himself. The smells mingle together as he walks, dampening his face with steam. Keith slides the glass door open carefully, doing his best not to spill from either mug, and steps outside. Shiro doesn’t even twitch at the sound, like he knew Keith was coming. 

The dark stained wood of the porch glistens, and Keith can smell the damp earth below, but the sky is clear now. Shiro sits in just his boxers, sheet wrapped tight around his body against the slight morning chill. His eyes shift from the horizon to Keith, and the sight seems to recenter Shiro and bring him back to the present moment. He unwraps the sheet from his right side, holding it open for Keith to slip into. 

Keith doesn’t hesitate, he settles into the space at Shiro’s side, handing the hot mug over. Shiro accepts his tea with a wan smile, pulled a little too tight at the corners of his lips. 

Shiro’s eyes return to the horizon, to the spread of dark fir trees just beginning to glow pink with the sunrise. Keith’s grateful every day that they chose a home away from the noise of the city. The sounds at night had worn and plucked at Shiro’s sense of safety, and the open air has helped him heal. Keith can’t complain about being a bit out of the way, either.

“Nightmare?” Keith asks, though he knows the answer.

Shiro simply hums in acknowledgement, sipping his tea slowly. His gaze is far away, like he’s seeing something out of the past instead of a dark forest.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Shiro dips his head, bashful, “You needed the sleep. You’ve been working so hard, and I know you’re exhausted.”

“Still, you know I would have woken up if you needed me.” 

Shiro nods.

“Unless you… didn’t?” Keith’s voice comes out so small, and he has to immediately bite back the rush of guilt at his own words. To ask Shiro to reassure _him,_ in a moment like this, feels selfish as hell.

And yet, Keith needs the reassurance. 

“Keith, you know I always need you. I just… I also want to learn to be okay,” Shiro swallows hard, “I thought sitting outside might help.”

“Did it?”

“I think so. Especially now that you’re here.”

Shiro bumps his shoulder into Keith’s gently, the hint of a smile on his mouth now. The silence between them is comfortable as the sun creeps up towards the skyline. The clouds are streaked with orange and pink, and Shiro looks bathed in golden light. Shiro’s eyes abandon their intense focus on the skyline as the sunlight starts to sting, staring into his almost empty mug. It’s as if he’s looking for something there, something he won’t find in dredges of tea leaves.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keith asks.

Shiro shrugs. “It wasn’t anything new. Just the few seconds before the explosion.”

“Matt?”

“Yeah. He was laughing,” Shiro’s voice cracks, as if the words hurt. Like they’re something sharp he’s trying to expel from his throat, “He had no idea what was going to happen. And he was just…. Laughing.”

“None of you knew, Shiro,” Keith crowds in tighter, pressing his arm against Shiro’s. 

“I know.”

Shiro drains the rest of his cup and sets it down, looking back at the trees. He doesn’t say anything more for a long while, and Keith has never been one to need to fill the silence.

“Matt has a nice laugh,” Keith remarks. 

Shiro laughs at that, quiet and crackling, and nods his agreement.

“He really does.”

Movement catches Keith’s eye, and when he looks down he notices Shiro rubbing at one of his scars with his prosthetic thumb, pressing hard enough to turn the pink skin around it white until the capillaries refill slowly. The skin is irritated, like he’s been fussing at it for a while. 

Keith’s lost count of the number of times he’s found Shiro doing the same thing, worrying his scar tissue with unforgiving fingers. Keith puts a hand over Shiro’s and quells the insistent press of his thumb. The scar beneath is a jagged lightning bolt of pale, raised tissue at the base of Shiro’s palm. Less than an inch to the left and Shiro might have had too much blood loss, or severed unrepairable nerves. He could have lost this hand, like his other, but he hadn’t. All he was left with there was an unnecessary reminder of the worst day of his life, one that twinged when he lifted something the wrong way, or when he’d been typing too long.

Keith gets a closer look at the skin once he moves Shiro’s hand, and he sees that it’s more irritated than he’s seen it in a while. He doesn’t admonish Shiro, he knows Shiro’s not trying to hurt himself or cause more damage. There’s no frustration in Keith, just an ache in his heart, familiar and echoing. He wishes, as he does every other day, that he could lessen Shiro’s pain by taking some of it into himself. 

But pain doesn’t work like that. 

Keith lets Shiro’s metal fingers drop to his lap, raising Shiro’s left hand closer to his face for inspection. This thumb swipes over the reddened skin gently, soothing. It’s a message that doesn’t need words, a comforting thing, like cool water on sunburn. Keith pulls Shiro’s hand to his lips, pressing them gently over the spot at first, then firmer. His lips map out every millimeter of the scar, leaving nothing untouched or unloved. Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, against the light of the rising sun or the sight of Keith’s lips on his skin, Keith isn’t sure.

Shiro doesn’t tell him to stop. 

Keith shifts closer, determined to break through this feeling. He trusts Shiro to tell him if he should stop, but no such words come. Shiro’s mouth is pursed shut, his breath coming in sharp bursts from his nose. His whole body is rigid with tension, and Keith can feel his muscles clench and unclench under his mouth. 

Keith flips Shiro’s hand and moves to the next scar, crescent shaped and slicing through the knuckle of Shiro’s ring finger. Shiro hates that one in particular, hates that he has to see it every time he looks at his wedding ring. Keith pillows his lips against it, taking his time and watching a dozen expressions pass over Shiro’s face. The muscle in Shiro’s temple twitches as his jaw works and his eyes squint open.

Shiro’s irises are slivers of gunmetal gray, tracking Keith’s progress up Shiro’s arm. He finds each scar in turn and showers kisses over each one. Each move is intentional, unhurried, and Shiro melts under Keith’s touch. The tension bleeds out of him drop by drop until he’s lax and pliant in Keith’s grip. 

Keith shifts again, sliding off of the bench until his knees his the cool wood between Shiro’s feet. He runs his hands over Shiro’s bare thighs, his thumbs swiping over scars before his mouth follows. He pulls sounds from Shiro’s throat, scratchy and raw. There’s nothing sexual about his whimpers and gasps; there’s pleasure there, sure, but it’s something more akin to relief than ecstasy. Relief from a bone deep ache and the weight of the world’s sorrows. 

Keith pushes the fabric of Shiro’s boxers aside to find a scar on Shiro’s hip and press a kiss to it. He could find every mark on his husband’s skin even when they’re shrouded in fabric, the constellations of Shiro’s scars are mapped across the back of Keith’s eyelids. Keith know that for Shiro, each one is a violent reminder of the pain he endured, the friends he lost. Of the months spent in physical therapy alongside Matt, the years spent learning to do things with his weaker side. 

But to Keith they’re something else entirely. Each bump and ridge of scar tissue is a reminder that Shiro is _still here_. Still falling asleep next to Keith every night and waking up next to him in the morning. Still telling awful jokes and singing off key. Still making Keith blush, and smile, and _melt._

Keith loves the scars for that.

He loves them because they’re part of Shiro. They’re part of the story of the man he loves, a dark and harrowing chapter. Keith’s mouth travels up one side of Shiro’s stomach before doubling back to the other. When he reaches the slash above Shiro’s belly button, Shiro flinches, his stomach muscles twitching with a quiet laugh. He’s always been extra ticklish there, a fact that Keith takes advantage of regularly. When Keith’s kisses bring him to Shiro’s collarbone, lips loathe to leave Shiro's skin for even a second, Shiro reaches his limit.

He wraps sun-warmed arms around Keith’s ribs, pulling his face to Shiro’s. The kiss is fierce, a hard press of lips and slowly sweeping tongues. It’s a slow simmer of warmth, something gentler and deeper than blazing flames, but it flushes Keith with heat all the same. Shiro pours his feelings into the kiss and Keith drinks them down greedily, taking everything Shiro will share with him. Shiro’s fingers wind into Keith’s hair in a clutching grip, holding his head in place, as if Keith was going anywhere at all. He’s exactly where he should be, tangled in Shiro’s limbs and the sheets from the bed they share. When they finally part, heaving shared breaths, words spill from Keith’s lips unbidden.

“I love every piece of you, Shiro,” he whispers fervently, “Even the pieces you can’t.”

Shiro’s whimper is a wet sound, vibrating into Keith’s mouth when Shiro pulls him back in for a desperate kiss. Keith can feel the breath catch in Shiro’s throat, can feel hot tears on his cheeks that he knows he didn’t shed, feels the way Shiro’s fingers tremble as he pulls Keith fully into his lap. Keith sits astride Shiro’s thighs but he doesn’t sit down fully at first, hovering over Shiro’s lap while he pours his love into the kiss. It’s Shiro who digs his fingers, flesh and metal alike, into the meat of Keith’s hips and drags him down until they’re pressed together.

“I love you,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s mouth. He rolls Keith’s hips with his hands in a slow grind, until they’re both hard and aching. As Keith moves, his cock slides against the bulk of Shiro’s, but there’s too much fabric separating them. The need to feel Shiro’s skin against his, all of it, takes Keith by storm. His fingers that tug at Shiro’s boxers are frantic, clumsy, and Shiro’s hands on him are the same. He pulls Shiro’s cock from the fabric, smoothing a hand down his shaft with no real intent, just savoring the velvety softness of his skin. Then they’re sliding together, thrusts jerky and without rhythm. 

Keith spreads his fingers, trying to wrap them around both of their lengths, and they tangle with Shiro’s where his slide over Keith. Keith’s other hand curls around the base of Shiro’s neck, keeping him where Keith can ravage his mouth as he thrusts into the circle of their hands. Pre leaks steadily from both of them, slicking the slide into something smoother.

“Keith,” Shiro moans.

“I’ve got you,” Keith answers, his breath puffing against Shiro’s cheekbone as he kisses across his face to his ear. Keith knows Shiro’s close, knows they both are; Shiro’s thighs twitch and tremble beneath Keith’s. Shiro’s hand tightens around both of their cocks and Keith returns the pressure, moaning into Shiro’s jaw. The air is wet and cool against his skin, the heat of the sun blazing against his back. 

Shiro’s moan echoes through the trees as he comes, coating their tangled fingers. Keith can feel the pleasure reverberate through Shiro’s body, from his tensing thighs to the twitch of the muscles in his jaw. Keith follows as soon as he feels the wet heat of Shiro’s release slide down his own skin, digging his nails into Shiro’s shoulder hard enough to leave crescent shaped scores. 

Their ragged breaths are loud in the quiet of the sunrise, mingling with the quiet tunes of songbirds below. As soon as Keith catches his breath he’s pressing a kiss to the bridge of Shiro’s nose, to the scar that spans across it. Shiro’s eyes close against the tenderness of the gesture, but gone is the resistance from earlier. He lets Keith love him, lets Keith love the parts of himself that he never wanted. Shiro pulls Keith flush against him, burying his face in Keith’s neck and breathing deep. Keith feels like liquid, spilling into Shiro bonelessly. He folds his own arms around Shiro’s neck and lets his cheek pillow against the softness of Shiro’s hair. 

When Keith’s knees start to ache against the wood of the swinging bench, he slides backwards off of Shiro’s lap. He winces as he stands; they’re both a mess. Keith offers Shiro his hand, pulling his husband to his full height as the sheet falls away. Shiro really is glorious in the buttery sunlight; his skin is a constellation map of his journey through life. A life he shares with Keith. 

“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” Keith says, tugging at Shiro’s hand.

“Let’s go get _you_ cleaned up,” Shiro answers. Keith’s love and surprise falls from his mouth in the form of laughter. This is Shiro, _his_ Shiro, chock full of silly comebacks and endearingly terrible flirting. Shiro’s edged in gold, sparkling and precious, when he dips back down to kiss Keith one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/starryskeyes)


End file.
